Last Cup of Sorrow
by crazycatlady713
Summary: Donnie learns that a sympathetic ear is worth more than a thousand meaningless platitudes, while Raph learns you can't believe everything you read on the internet. (Contains coarse language and angst.)


Donnie is ripped unceremoniously from a most pleasant dream - his first in quite a while - by a sound like a freight train tearing through the lair; He regains his bearings in time to realize it is simply the anguished wail of the malfunctioning blender, Raph no doubt the one operating it. According to the clock on his bedside table it is _entirely_ too early for this shit. He gets up regardless. There's no way he'll be able to fall back asleep now.

His suspicions are instantly confirmed when he plods into the kitchen, the forest green turtle leaning against the counter with a mug in hand. One needn't be a genius to see he hasn't slept much; large bags have formed beneath his emerald eyes, and he seems to be staring off into the distance as he sips his protein shake. He clearly has a lot on his mind, though Donnie doubts his reticent sibling would be forthcoming with that information.

Not that it matters. He has a pretty good idea what's bothering him.

"Good morning," he says chirpily as he takes a seat at the table. "You're certainly up early."

"Couldn't sleep," Raph grunts.

"Me neither. I mean, I _was_ asleep - having a very nice dream in which I was captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise, in fact - till what sounded like an entire fleet of squad cars blaring their sirens all at once woke me up."

"It ain't _that_ loud," the sai-wielder says, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, it is," Donnie replies. "That damn blender is on its last leg, Raph. It's so old and worn-out, I'm surprised you haven't gotten tetanus from it yet. It's not even worth the effort it'd take to repair it. Why don't you just get a new one already?"

"...Got more important things to worry about."

Donnie looks to the floor, abashed. They are silent save for the sound of Raph's chugging, the genius keeping his gaze trained on his feet. "I should probably bring Splinter his pills," he says quietly, rising from the table.

"Already did it," Raph says, not looking at him as he speaks. "He, uh...he ain't lookin' too good."

They fall silent once again as Donnie settles back into his seat. Raph turns around abruptly and busies himself with the dishes. He seems to be taking an awfully long time to wash only a few things.

"It's kinda stupid," he pipes up suddenly, scrubbing a mug with such ferocity Donnie is surprised the varnish hasn't worn off, "but when we were kids, I legit thought he was a super hero or something. Like, I'd come up with these scenarios in my head where some bad guy with a machine gun is just sprayin' him with bullets, and they'd just bounce off his chest like he was Superman."

"That isn't stupid at all," Donnie sadly replies. "I'm pretty sure we _all_ thought the same thing. Hell, I'm pretty sure every kid everywhere thinks their parents are these divine beings, larger-than-life, impervious to harm. Perfect."

"It's just...it's really hard to see him like this. Ya know?"

"...Yeah."

Donnie wishes he could say something to allay his fears, to make him feel just a little bit okay, though he's starting to think no such words exist. He was never good at this sort of thing anyway. Despite the innumerable accomplishments to his name, being able to say the right thing at the right time has never been one of them.

He wishes he could ask Splinter for help on the matter and rises halfway out of his chair to do just that. He freezes when the sad realization dawns of his sleep-deprived brain that his beloved sensai is no longer capable of doling out sage advice, or even speaking for that matter, and sits back down. He continues to watch Raph scrub the dishes in mutual silence, the latter wiping brusquely at his eyes with the back of his hand every so often.

He looks back on all the times he sought Splinter's counsel, hoping the answer to his query lies in his memories. He remembers with a fair mix of fondness and melancholy how they'd sit across from one another, his master listening intently while Donnie explained what troubled him. How he'd look upon his son with eyes completely devoid of judgment, even when Donnie himself felt his problems were silly and inconsequential. How he'd simply let him speak, without interrupting him, without belittling him.

How his sensai's mere presence was enough to calm him.

"Listen Raph," he begins, clearing his throat. "We're all going through a rough time at the moment...you especially. I know you're not one to seek help and would prefer instead to handle things on your own, but I just want you to know that you don't have to shoulder this burden by yourself. If you ever want to talk about it, or you just want some company or whatever, I'm here. Okay?"

"Sure thing, Dr. Phil," he scoffs. "You want me to brew up a fresh pot?"

"I mean it, Raph...And yes, I _would_ actually like a fresh cup."

iIt was worth a try/i he thinks, watching him search through the cabinets for the coffee.

Of all his siblings, Raph is the one he worries for the most. As stoic as Leo is, he knows enough to ask for assistance when it's needed. Mikey, completely without guile and unencumbered by pride, has absolutely no qualms in seeking help. Raph however, is apt to stew in his own misery and let it eat away at him, pushing everyone else away. Both figuratively and literally.

It has been the prevailing theory amongst his brothers for years that his massive ego was to blame. To ask for help is tantamount to admitting weakness. He thus chose to face his demons on his own, without the aid of his allies, even if it was to his detriment.

"Raph, if this is a pride thing..."

"It ain't a 'pride thing', Don. Shit!" he says with an exasperated sigh. "...Or maybe it is. I dunno. It's just like...sometimes I'm afraid if I talk about somethin' that's botherin' me, you guys'll think I'm dumb as shit and hate me or whatever."

"Oh, Raph!" he replies, laughing nervously. "I couldn't possibly hate you any more than I already do."

Raph turns slowly around and looks at him with huge, horrified eyes, his hand poised mid-scoop over the coffee maker.

 _Good job, genius!_ Donnie thinks, inwardly kicking himself. _Raph being all vulnerable and finally opening up is a perfect time to practice your stand-up routine! Hey there Foot, have you met my good friend Mouth?_

"I'm sorry," he pleads, hands raised as if in surrender. "That was a really bad, _really_ poorly timed joke. I absolutely, unequivocally _do not_ hate you. I never have and never will. God, I'm such an asshole sometimes..."

Much to Donnie's surprise, he responds with a loud, raucous guffaw, the laughter dispelling the tension in the room immediately.

"You _are_ an asshole, Don!" he says, good-naturedly. "And just for that, I'm gonna put even more piss in your coffee than usual."

"Joke's on you, smartass!" he replies, the relief evident in his voice. "I like urine in my coffee! Adds an extra kick."

The ice now thoroughly broken and the beverage brewed, Raph pours some into a mug and hands it to him. "Here ya go, dude," he says. "Black like your heart."

The mug is Don's favorite, displaying the image of a wild-haired Albert Einstein sticking his tongue out. He takes a long, luxurious sip, savoring it like a man wandering through the desert would the clear, refreshing water of an oasis.

"Ah, sweet ambrosia! Okay, I am officially awake now. Would you like to proceed with our little heart-to-heart? That is, if I haven't frightened you away with my social ineptitude."

"Don, If you bein' a social retard was scary, I'd have run screamin' outta the lair years ago."

"Fair assessment," Don gamely pronounces with a shrug and a nod of the head. "So, what's on your mind?"

Raph pulls out a chair, a steaming mug of his own in hand. "Ya know, I'm actually kinda jealous of how easy it is for you guys to talk about whatever's upsettin' ya," he says, taking a swig. "It's like, I feel like if I talk about a problem I'm havin', it makes it more _real_. And if I don't talk about it, if I can kinda ignore it, it'll go away.

"And thinkin' about Splinter bein' gone...I can't even picture it in my head. I mean, it's not like I think he's immortal or anythin'. I know it'll happen sooner or later. I just kinda figured it'd be waaaay later. Like, we'd already be grown, mature, and better able to deal with this shit. And it's happenin' _now_ and we're none of those things. At least, I ain't."

 _Me neither_ , Donnie thinks. He can feel his stomach lurch and heave as his brother speaks, fear coiling inside him like a cobra. Splinter. Gone. Does not compute. He can't envision a future without their master, hot tears prickling his eyes at the thought. He holds them back, however. Raph is the one who needs him now.

"As much as I don't want to, I can accept the inevitable happenin'," he continues, "but what I _can't_ accept is the way it's happenin'. He's always been so strong, so capable. He's fought so many battles, defeated so many enemies; now look at him. It just don't seem right. He deserves to go out like the hero he is, with his boots on, ya know? Not layin' in a bed, fallin' apart little by little, day after day. It just ain't fair."

He diverts his gaze once more, his chin propped up in one hand, the other wrapped firmly around his coffee mug. Donnie watches as concentric circles form on the coffee's once placid surface, his brother's hand trembling slightly.

"Splinter bein' sick got me thinkin' about other things too," he says huskily, eyes still plastered to the far side of the room. "Like our own mortality and whatever. About Casey and April gettin' older and eventually dyin', the whole world changin', and here we'd still be. The four of us just sittin' here in the dark for like five hundred years, old and decrepit and shit..."

"Wait a minute," Donnie interjects, nearly choking on his joe. "I'm really sorry for interrupting, but did you just say we'd be around for _five hundred years_?"

"Um, yeah?"

"...Where the hell did you hear that?"

"Uh...," Raph looks at him quizzically, a single eyeridge raised. "The internet?"

Donnie rubs his temples, sighing deeply. He swore he'd sit quietly as Raph said his piece, but this is an injustice that simply demands to be righted.

"Raph, while it _is_ true that some turtles can live for a very long time, five hundred years is a hell of a stretch. The Galapagos giant tortoise is known to live well over one hundred years in the wild, but it owes its longevity to both its strict vegetarian diet and its docile nature. The oldest known turtle in captivity lived to be two hundred and eighty, in what was ostensibly considered optimal conditions. I seriously doubt having pizza as our main dietary staple and having shurikens hurled at our heads on a daily basis constitutes 'optimal.'

"The lifespan of the Galapagos giant tortoise is irrelevant anyway," he continues, taking another sip, "as we are red-eared sliders. Our lifespans are comparable to the average human's. But I digress. As you were saying..."

"Five hundred years, eighty years, ten years, what the hell's the difference?" Raph says, his voice wet and wavering, about to break. "It's still a long ass time to be trapped. All these things we'll never be able to experience; graduatin' college, travelin' the world, meetin' new people...fallin' in love. 'Cause we're freaks.

"I know it must sound stupid as shit to want to experience all these like, mundane things and whatever, considerin' all the amazin' things we've already done, things humans can only dream about. But it's like, when we die, no one will know. No one will even know we did all these things, that we helped save the world. No one will know what an amazin' father and teacher Splinter is. No one will remember us, no one will tell our stories. No one will..."

Raph sags in his chair then, his chin against his chest, whatever he was about to say cut off by a half-choked sob. The tears are flowing freely now, the hurt he fought so hard to contain for so long finally bubbling over. He makes no effort to hide his face as the tears continue falling, listlessly wiping at them with the heel of his palm.

He is, for the first time in his life, too exhausted to hide the pain.

Donnie has never seen him so exposed before. His grief, so raw and naked, so visible...it's almost too much to bear. He wants nothing more than to pull Raph to him, to hold him and let him cry it out.

He rises and reaches out to him, not quite sure of what he's doing. His bo calloused palms extend outward, summoning Raph into his embrace. Raph looks to him with swollen, red-rimmed eyes, a look of incredulity on his face.

"Raph," he softly intones, his voice barely a whisper, "it's okay."

And before he realizes it Raph has taken him up on his offer, jumping to his feet and practically falling into Donnie's arms, allowing his brother to hug him for the first time in years. The elder turtle pats him gently on his shell, holding him as he weeps. Raph nuzzles against his neck, holding him tight, clinging to him like a life raft in a storm tossed ocean.

"Thanks man," he says finally, pulling away from him. "I, uh...I needed that. I think I snotted on your shell a little, though."

"Eh, that's alright. Wouldn't be the first time I was doused in green slime."

Raph chuckles, clapping him on the shoulder. Donnie looks into his eyes, reddened and sodden with tears, and pulls him into another hug. It's gentler this time, Raph sighing contently on his shoulder.

They are hurled suddenly back into reality by the dry, hacking cough coming from Splinter's room. It is hoarse, unproductive and painful sounding, and Donnie can feel his brother wincing in his arms at the sound of it.

"I'll go check on him," Raph says, pulling away.

Donnie places a hand on his shoulder as he turns toward the doorway. "Why don't you take five, Raph? I'll check on him."

He ushers him wordlessly back into his chair, Raph gratefully accepting the coffee refill Donnie offers him before departing.

"Thanks again Don," he says to his brother's retreating back. "And um, this kinda goes without sayin', but would ya mind keepin' this whole interaction under your hat?"

Donnie looks at him over his shoulder, a sly smile spreading across his face. "I know, Raph. You've got your reputation as resident badass to maintain. Your secret is safe with me." He stops and turns completely around then, looking his brother squarely in the face. "But, um...if you want to hang out later, maybe spar or shoot some hoops or whatever...?"

"I think I can pencil ya in," Raph says, grinning over the lip of his mug.

"Okay, cool."

Donnie casts one more look in his direction before heading to Splinter's room. Raph seems older somehow, he thinks, as though he's aged several years during their talk. More relaxed, though. A great weight, it appears, has been lifted.

Raph catches him looking and smiles serenely at him, his whole face suddenly lighting up. He polishes off the last of his drink as Donnie smiles back at him one last time.

 _We're going to be okay_ , he thinks, exiting the kitchen.

For the first time in a long time, he realizes it's true.


End file.
